The splendor of youth’s time again belongeth to the garden;
The glad tidings of the rose reacheth the bulbul sweet of song.
O breeze! if again thou reach the youths of the meadow,
Convey our service to the cypress, the rose, and the sweet basil.
If the young Magian, wine seller, display such splendor,
I will make my eye lash the dust sweeper of the door of the wine house.
O thou that drawest, over the moon, the polo of purest ambergris,
Make not distraught of state, me of revolving head.
This crowd that laugheth at those drinking the wine dregs, I fear?
They will, in the end, ruin their Faith.
Be the friend of the men of God; for, in Noah’s ark,
Was a little dust, that purchased not the deluge for a drop of water.
Forth from the house of the sphere, go; and bread, seek not.
For, in the end, this dark cup slayeth the guest.
To him, whose last sleeping place is with two handfuls of earth,
Say “Thine what need to exalt the turrets to the sky?”
My moon of Kan’an! the throne of Egypt is thine:
The time is that when thou shouldst did farewell to the prison.
Hafez! drink wine; practice profligacy and be happy; but,
like others, make not the Kuran the snare of deceit.
